


Propriety

by Pansexualweirdo



Category: Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Friendship, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, My First Work in This Fandom, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Romance, Sweet, They Have To Be Careful In Public, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:48:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24789499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pansexualweirdo/pseuds/Pansexualweirdo
Summary: Excerpt from the story: “He’s quite a sleep talker. I hear your name on occasion, and he always sounds distraught. I’d appreciate if you didn’t mention this to him, or you didn't hear it from me.”“Of course not. Thanks for letting me know, Nestor,” Tintin says, forcing a smile, and lets silence fall over the room when Nestor leaves with a nod. So the Captain’s been having nightmares lately… about him? involving him? This is one of those riddles Tintin isn’t sure he wants to decipher.Summary: Tintin and Captain Haddock take a day off from adventures to spend time together out in the park with Milou. There, Tintin musters up the courage to ask Haddock about his drinking habits, but that conversation has to wait, because they quickly realize that they've lost their terrier.This is my first contribution to this fandom, so if you find any flaws or things I can work on, please let me know! I always appreciate constructive criticism (and kudos!) Enjoy! <3
Relationships: Archibald Haddock & Tintin, Archibald Haddock/Tintin, Milou | Snowy & Tintin, Tintin & Original Characters(s)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 88





	Propriety

It’s a wonderful morning at Moulinsart. The sun is high in the sky and paints all it touches in a beautiful golden glow. The refreshing scent of budding roses in the air is coming in through the open windows from the garden. When Tintin awakes in his bedroom and gets up to stretch, he’s re-energized and ready to face the day, but not all residents of the house are so lucky.

The journalist finds Captain Haddock dozed off in an armchair in the sitting room, with his cap over his eyes and an empty whiskey bottle in a loosely curled fist hanging off the armrest. Even asleep, he can't let go of the booze. His snoring is loud enough for Tintin to refrain from tip-toeing past him to get to the kitchen. But he looks him over first, a feeling of unease building up in his stomach.

The Captain has been _passing out_ rather than falling asleep these past few nights, and waking up in an already pre-determined bad mood. It seems to Tintin like a vicious circle, but helping his friend out of that circle is much easier said than done. He tries to convince Haddock to at least get to his bedroom when night comes and tucks him in with a blanket when he falls asleep on the couch or in his recliner; but he also doesn’t want to butt his nose in Haddock's business too much. Tintin's the guest here at Moulinsart, after all, his stay here isn’t permanent. He must be respectful towards his host.

Speaking of the host of the house, Haddock shifts in his sleep now, muttering something about damning the torpedoes and ‘full speed ahead’. Carefully, Tintin continues walking and Nestor greets him when they’re out of earshot from the sleeping beauty in the living room.

“Good morning, Sir Tintin. Shall I prepare breakfast for you and Master Haddock?”

Tintin smiles, but politely declines the butler’s offer. “That’s very kind of you, Nestor, but I think I’ll take care of it this morning.”

“Very well, sir,” nods Nestor and turns on his heel to leave Tintin be, but Tintin stops him.

"Nestor?”

“Yes, Sir?”

He sets off to boil some water and ground the coffee beans while he asks what’s been on his mind, his cheeks darkening a mite.

“Have you… noticed anything different about the Captain’s behavior lately? I know he’s a drinker, but he consumes bottles more now than he used to. I’m just worried,” he explains, because he is, but he wouldn’t admit aloud just _how_ worried he is.

He’s always thought of the Captain as a dear friend, and it should be in a friend’s best interest that the other is healthy, but he knows that he cares a great deal for the sailor. Perhaps more so than regular friends should.

Put out, Nestor ruefully says: “With all due respect, Sir, I really don’t think it’s my place to discuss Master Haddock’s drinking habits.”

And that’s completely fair. Still, Tintin huffs a sigh of frustration. He draws a collective breath - he will _not_ take this out on the butler - and puts the final touch to his and the Captain’s drinks. His with two sugars and milk, and Haddock’s with a sweetener and nothing else. He prepares some painkillers for the Captain as well, keeping his back to Nestor.

“I understand. I’m not trying to be nosy, I just- I want to help him. I’d like to know why alcohol seems to be his first source of comfort.”

 _When his first source of comfort should be me,_ Tintin bites back, swallowing the words like one would a spoonful of bitter cough medicine. When he finally turns to Nestor, feeling flustered over making a scene and getting emotional, the butler looks sympathetic.

“It has been the first source of comfort for The Haddocks bloodline a long time, I’m afraid. See...” Nestor takes a step closer to him and lower his voice, sending a quick glance to the Captain; who’s thankfully still snoozing in the sitting room.

“He’s quite a sleep talker. I hear your name on occasion, and he always sounds distraught. I’d appreciate if you didn’t mention this to him, or you didn't hear it from me.”

“Of course not. Thanks for letting me know, Nestor,” Tintin says with a brief smile and lets silence fall over the room when Nestor leaves him.

So the Captain’s been having nightmares lately… about _him?_ _involving_ him? This is one of those riddles Tintin isn’t sure he wants to decipher.

However, he doesn’t want this revelation to ruin the beautiful day ahead of them, so he places the coffee mugs and the anodyne on a silver tiered tray and brings it into the sitting room, where he finds Haddock stirring awake. He clutches a hand to his forehead and lets out a grunt, voice thick with sleep. Tintin offers him a smile.

“Good morning, Capitaine. I hope I didn’t wake you?”

He takes a seat on the couch next to Haddock’s armchair and picks up his coffee, discreetly scanning his friend up and down over the rim of his cup. The Captain looks miserable, his hat falling to the floor when he runs his fingers down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. The bags under his eyes are more severe than Tintin has ever seen them, and he looks like he’d rather go right back to sleep again than face the day ahead of him and its challenges.

“No, no, yer fine, lad, I was just… havin’ a bad dream.”

 _Oh?_ Tintin thinks, but he knows he shouldn’t meddle. Haddock sits up straight and puts his nose in the air like a bloodhound; he can probably smell the coffee. He turns his head to the coffee table and his face lights up.

“You’re a Godsend, boy,” he says and downs the anodyne with a hearty amount of steaming hot coffee. He grimaces then, and one of Tintin's brows arches.

“You got anything stronger I can pour in?” he asks, much to Tintin’s disappointment.

“I think you’ve had quite enough already.”

But Haddock simply scoffs and pulls a new, unopened bottle of whiskey out from behind the armchair, saying: “Just need a little sip”, before pouring a quarter of the bottle’s contents into the coffee cup. He's lucky it isn't overflowing. Tintin says nothing, but shakes his head disapprovingly.

He vaguely gestures to the bottles that litter the floor, a question about them cupped in his mouth. But Haddock’s gaze drifts away from the younger man, then, to one of the floor-to-ceiling arched windows in the room.

“Lovely weather, isn’t it?” Haddock instead says, changing the subject, and reluctantly, Tintin lets him.

“Yes, yes it is. I was thinking of going out, was hoping you might join me?” asks the reporter, attempting to woo the Captain with his smile alone. But Haddock’s eyes narrow at him in response, not quite the reaction Tintin wanted.

“You’ve already got another case? I have to tell you, lad, I’m a tad beat from our last adventure.”

Tintin shakes his head.

“It’s not another case. I merely figured we’d walk Milou in the park, perhaps stop somewhere for a bite. It’s too nice a day to stay huddled up in the castle, don’t you agree, Captain?”

As if being summoned - probably woken up by having heard his name from upstairs -, Milou runs down the steps, joining the pair in the lounge. His tail wags away and he barks happily as he greets both Tintin and Haddock with a lick to their palm and then decides to nestle against the sailor’s chest. Tintin looks on at the two them in awe, watches Haddock scratch behind Milou’s ear and snicker as the dog flips over onto his back.

“Well, that much is true. And some fresh air might be just what I need… Aye, Tintin, that’s a great idea!” exclaims Haddock and Tintin makes a strident attempt to refrain from bouncing on the couch, giddy with joy. Perhaps it’s _him_ that’s got a screw loose and not the Captain, like so many claim.

Milou hops on over to the sofa to get all up in Tintin’s face and kiss him good morning, and Tintin has to push him off as not to get soaked in dog drool, but he’s laughing all the same. Yes, maybe a day out with just the three of them, no drama, is what they all need right now.

Tintin notices in the corner of his eye that his friend is watching them, but as soon as he looks his way, the Captain's immediately averts his gaze, clearing his throat.

“Well, let me grab some water and get rid of this headache before we go anywhere, eh?”

“Aye aye, Captain!” 

* * *

As soon as they arrive at the park, Tintin already feels better than he did earlier this morning. He’s out in the sun, breathing the sweet summer air, with an excited Milou on his left side and the Captain on his right, who looks to be in a better mood, as well.

The park in Moulin is enormous, with fields of green, short-cut grass, all kinds of accommodation, and gorgeous flower beds that are clearly well-tended. It’s a nice day out, so the amount of citizens here doesn’t surprise Tintin. He and the Captain people-watch some as they walk Milou; families having picnics in the grass, elderly couples feeding the doves, and a few odd stragglers walking in the park alone. Nothing suspicious, nothing alarming. And thank God for that, Tintin thinks.

They make easy small-talk and it’s all nice and pleasant until some kids fly by them on roller skates, one catching their balance by absent-mindedly pulling on Tintin’s sleeve, and Tintin nearly tumbles over. Only Haddock’s there to catch him, a supportive arm heaving him upright and resting on top of his back in a protective manner while Tintin regains his composure.

“Nitwit rascals!” he mutters, then adds, softer: “You alright, lad?”

His hand is still on his back, warm and almost burning to the touch, even through the fabric of Tintin’s sweater, and the reporter catches himself blushing a little. Although a bit hot-headed and absent at times, Haddock’s attentive and strong when need be, and Tintin can’t count on his hands the number of times the Captain has saved him from tricky situations. And this is no exception.

Tintin clears his throat, afraid his voice might not carry.

“Fine. Thank you.”

_When Haddock removes his hand from Tintin’s back, he feels a little cold without it._

* * *

Eventually, Milou sits down on the cobblestone path and stubbornly stays there despite the journalist’s calls, clearly done with walking for now. So he and the Captain both shrug their shoulders and take a seat on the bench closest to the terrier.

The Captain looks far better than he did this morning, relaxed and peaceful as he spreads out on his side on the bench, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. Tintin observes that he hasn’t brought his flask along today. It’s a small step towards progress, but a step all the same, he thinks.

“Join me, Tintin, close your eyes for me,” hums Haddock without looking up, and the reporter complies, copying the Captain’s pose before letting his eyes flutter shut.

“Right. Then?”

“Then you listen.”

Tintin ignores the rumble in Haddock’s voice and focuses on the task at hand, taking in his surroundings. He can hear Milou panting by his feet, the gleeful shouts and laughter of children, idle conversations had by others nearby. Taking a moment of solace is nice, he has to hand it to the Captain, but soon enough, he grows antsy.

“... Then?”

“For crying out loud, Tintin! Forget I said anything, relaxation obviously isn’t part of your world,” huffs the Captain, and Tintin blinks up at him, half-offended, half-amused.

“It is, too! You think I can’t relax, huh?”

“No, I don’t think you can,” grins Haddock, all playfulness and hardly any bite, but Tintin’s going to make him eat his words. He rolls his shoulders and kicks up his feet on the armrest on the bench, laying his head squarely in Haddock’s lap.

The Captain grows stiff as a board, looking down at Tintin with wide eyes and a shade of red high on his cheeks. “W- What are you doing, lad?” he chokes out. In a matter of seconds, the reporter turns from confident to nervous. Perhaps he has overstepped his boundaries?

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m relaxing, Captain.”

And to his credit, his voice comes out a whole lot steadier and surer than he feels. When Haddock looks around as if making sure nobody is watching, his hands stuck uselessly in midair, Tintin starts to silently panic.

“Who’s the one unable to relax now?” he ribs him, relying on comedy to save him from the situation he put himself in. His heart beats fast in his ears, the warmth of the Captain’s lap radiating off of him like a furnace. If the circumstances were different, if Tintin could find out what the Captain felt for him, he’s positive he could fall asleep like this, with his head in his lap. Perhaps in front of the fireplace while Haddock reads a book for him.

Tintin promptly yanks his head out of that thought, his own mind starting to scare him. Now, Haddock lowers his voice so only Tintin can hear him.

“I _would_ , but there are people staring at us.”

Although Tintin doesn’t mind this, he knows Haddock does, and he’s been raised to act decent in public, so he sits up straight, pondering on the Captain’s words.

But he doesn’t get too far before he notices the absence by their legs, and he shoots up from the bench, yelling: “Milou’s gone!” 

* * *

Tintin and the Captain makes several rounds all through the park, calling his faithful terrier’s name and asking other visitors if they’ve seen him around. As time passes and they find no sign of Milou, Tintin only grows more anxious and angrier with himself. He shouldn’t have let his guard down or taken his eyes off of Milou. Furthermore, he should keep him on a leash as most responsible dog owners do. And all of this because he got distracted by…

“Milou, boy, where you at?” the Captain beckons, whistling in hope that their pet will come running. Tintin lets out an exasperated huff.

“I should’ve kept an eye on him!”

“Hey, I’m as much at fault as you are here. We only looked away from him for a minute, he can’t have gone far,” Haddock comforts him, a hand on his shoulder, grounding the journalist. Tintin meets the Captain’s eyes, and they’re reassuring.

“You really think so?”

“I know so! Milou’s practically as bright as you are, my boy, he’ll know to stay put.”

Tintin would have to agree that Milou’s smart, but the praise throws him off a little. There will be time to uncover this later, Tintin decides and takes his eyes off his friend to keep searching for Milou. He’s small but white as snow, it shouldn’t be hard to spot him.

“Milou! Old boy, I know you’re here somewhere!” he tries, not quite shouting as he doesn’t want to disturb the peace in the park, but loud enough that Milou should be able to hear him.

Then, Tintin’s tapped on the shoulder, and he and the Captain turn around to find a lady with Milou in her arms and two of her own dogs on leashes. They’re two dachshunds with pink collars that are panting for their life. Not the fittest for running partners, Tintin thinks, since this girl is clearly out on a run, evident by her clothing and tied up hair, as well as her quick breathing and jogging in place. She flashes them both an unsure smile.

“Sorry to inconvenience you, but are you looking for your pup?” she asks. Milou looks content with being carried, yipping at Tintin as if presenting a new find.

“Milou!” Tintin exclaims in pure relief, extending his arms out to take him from her. Milou licks him in the face, happy to see him but not aware whatsoever that he gave them both a fright. Tintin hugs him loosely, quietly scolding him for taking off alone, and then lets him down so he can greet the other dogs.

“He didn’t have a leash, but his tail started wagging as soon as you called his name,” she explains, pulling her leg up behind her back to stretch. She beams at Tintin, who bows courteously in return, thanking her for finding Milou.

“Milou, huh? That’s quite a creative name for a dog.”

“Thank you.”

All while Tintin tries to make polite conversation with the girl, Haddock simply looks on, most uncomfortable with the situation. Tintin can’t fathom why. Does he want to be included in the conversation, perhaps?

“Me and Captain Haddock here were worried sick. Milou’s quite the family member, you see.”

But the young woman doesn’t as much as acknowledge the Captain’s presence with a quick nod before continuing, still stretching, moving in one place. No room for idle talk, Tintin guesses.

“Uh-huh, that’s so interesting. Say, handsome, I’ve got to finish my run now, but you’re more than welcome to join me,” she winks and Haddock scoffs under his breath, rightfully annoyed by being ignored. Tintin arches a brow at her invitation, thinking that she’s being quite rude. Nonetheless, he forces a smile.

“Thanks, but no thanks, I’ve got my own running partner right here,” he says and links his arm with the Captain’s, ignoring the spluttering and coughing from him that follows his statement and instead marveling at the look of shock on the lady’s face.

“Oh. Oh, I didn’t realize… My apologies. I have to go now. Good day to you both,” she hurries and turns on her heel to jog away, her two poor companions struggling to chase after her. Milou whines at being left by his new playmates but obediently stays by his owner’s side. Tintin finds the situation a tad amusing, but the Captain doesn’t seem to share that mentality; untangling their arms with a look of combined fluster and fury on his face.

“Blistering- why in _Karaboudjan’s_ name would you go and say that for?”

But Tintin merely shrugs, unashamed of his own conduct. “She was being rude, I politely declined her invitation. That’s all. We may not be out on a run, but you _are_ my company,” he explains, trying not to let the fact that Haddock is angry over being mistaken as his partner get to him. It’s only natural for Haddock to react this way, Tintin’s fully aware, but it still hurts.

The Captain runs a hand down his face, suddenly looking defeated.

“I… I guess. You’re a loose cannon, Tintin,” he sighs, some fondness bleeding into his voice despite the reprimand, and the reporter can’t help but giggle, once again trying his luck and linking their arms together.

Haddock doesn’t pull away this time.

“Why, thank you, Capitaine. Shall we find a place to eat?” he asks, more cheerful and light, and the Captain tips his hat at him, looking rather adorable when flustered. This realization is one Tintin hadn’t expected would come to him so naturally, but it’s not unwelcome, either.

“Aye, I suppose we shall.”

“C’mon Milou, we’re not letting you out of our sights again,” Tintin tells his other friend, who barks in understanding and walks two steps or so ahead of them as they make their way out of the park. 

* * *

They settle down at an inviting, quaint little bar/café called La Fleur En Papier Doré (or; The Flower In Gold Paper*). The inside is adorned with tiled floor, wooden furniture and faded newspaper clippings decorating the walls. It’s dimly lit and very cozy, but since Tintin doesn’t have a leash with him for Milou - and heavily dislikes the idea of binding him down outside after the day’s events -, they take one of the tables outside, looking over the menu. Milou hunkers down in between their legs, almost caged in but it doesn’t seem to bother him, as he curls up in a ball and starts snoring away in an instant. It’s almost like he’s tuckered out after the chase as well.

Mulling over the menu, Tintin thinks aloud of their choices. “These grilled ham and cheese sandwiches sound divine! What do you reckon Captain, should we stick with a light snack?”

“Sure, you pick our poison,” comes the reply. Haddock has already put his menu down and is watching Tintin with a stern glare that makes the reporter feel less at ease with each passing second.

“And I suppose you’d like a beer?”

The Captain huffs out his answer.

“Right. Well, you’re only getting a pale one,” Tintin huffs back. He was told to choose for them, after all, and so he will.

He lowers the menu so he can face the Captain properly. “What's the matter? Are you still mad about the way I rejected that woman?” he asks, but with no mustered accusation in his tone. He doesn’t want to argue with the Captain, much less make him upset. Haddock leans back in his chair, deflated.

“I’m not mad, Tintin, I’m just… confused,” he admits. Tintin hadn’t expected a straight answer from him, but this is good. He can work with this. He sits more upright, their feet touching beneath the table. Milou stirs in his sleep, a low noise of discomfort from him as if he can sense the tension between the two men. Tintin searches the Captain’s gaze, but he keeps looking away.

“Confused? How come?”

“She was making a pass at you, you’re aware?”

The tonality in his voice is irritated, peeved. Tintin can’t see what point Haddock is trying to make. He thought he made it clear in the park that he wasn't interested in the lady. He isn’t all that interested in anyone but the Captain, period. And you may take that as you will.

“I'm aware. So what?” he challenges the other, and Haddock shakes his head, incredulous. “ _So what?!_ She was pretty, and she asked you to keep her company. Why would you turn down such an offer?”

Tintin goes quiet then, deflating a little himself. He wishes to explain his feelings, but he isn’t entirely sure what they are in the first place. And this isn’t the appropriate location for him to confess.

“You don’t have to feel anchored down by an old man like me, lad, you should… get out there, meet a nice young woman,” the Captain presses, but he sounds like he’s in pain when he says it. _The nerve of this man,_ Tintin thinks and opens his mouth to argue, but a waitress puts a wrench in their conversation by strutting up to their table, notepad in hand.

“Have you decided what you want, gentlemen?” she chirps, either completely unaware of or simply dismissing the sour mood. Tintin forces his anger down so that he can reply to her in a proper manner.

“Yes, we’ll have two glasses of Taras Boulba and two Croque-monsieurs*, please.”

“An excellent choice, sir. Your meals will be here shortly,” she says with a curtsy and leaves the pair be so that Tintin can scold the Captain for his obscure claims. His face feels hot with anger as he processes Haddock’s words.

“You’re not old, Captain, and you sure as hell aren’t ‘anchoring me down’,” he begins, fists clenching and unclenching beneath the table. Does he have to spell it out for him?

“Tintin…” Haddock gapes, taken aback by Tintin's language, but the reporter only says it loud enough for his friend to hear. “Let me finish, please. I rather think the company I keep and who I spend my time with should be _my_ decision to make. And I choose you,” he finishes, cheeks burning as he repeats the words in his head.

 _I choose you._ Every _time._

When Tintin finally dares look up, the Captain stares back at him slack-jawed, speechless. He awkwardly clears his throat, begging the Captain to say something, _anything_.

“... Very well. If that makes you happy, then-”

“It does,” he assures the other, feeling bold enough to let one foot brush against Haddock’s.

Now it’s all out in the open, and the Captain will surely draw a line if he doesn’t return his feelings, is Tintin’s thought process. But Haddock doesn’t say anything, nor does he remove his foot from under Tintin’s. He only stares at the younger man, eyes alight with wonder. 

* * *

When their food and drinks arrive, they immediately chow down. Tintin hadn’t realized how hungry he was until now, and the bread is warm and crisp, the cheese melting in his mouth. His eyes flutter shut for a moment. He rips off a small piece of ham and hand feeds it to Milou, who laps it up from his palm.

“Aye, these are some good grilled sandwiches,” Haddock stiffly says, grasping at straws for a conversation topic. Tintin smiles adoringly at him. “Agreed. And how are you finding your drink, Capitaine?”

He gestures to the pale beer that Haddock has already drank half of while Tintin has only taken a sip of his own.

“It’s not bad. It’s not Loch Lomond, but it’s not bad.”

 _Alright, it’s now or never,_ Tintin thinks. He shifts in his seat, reluctant to bring it up and risk ruining the mood, but aware that they have to talk about it all the same.

“I wanted to talk to you about your drinking, actually.”

Haddock fixes him with a stare. “Yeah?”

“Yes. I guess there’s no idea in beating around the bush… I’ve taken notice of how much you’ve been consuming lately,” he confesses, and the Captain looks down at the table. Tintin doesn’t feel good at all cornering him like this.

“I don’t mean to pry, or try to control your drinking, I just- I worry.”

And Haddock does brighten a little at that, but his smile is half-hearted at best.

“There’s no need to, my boy. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Are you?”

A painfully long silence falls over the table before the Captain speaks.

“I’ve had these… nightmares for a while now. I can’t go into detail about them here but drinking’s always been my coping mechanism. The only one I know of. I guess I should realize it’s not working already…” he only mumbles that last part, but Tintin catches it all the same.

His heart aches for the Captain, such a caring and kind soul, tortured by both others and himself in this way. In an attempt to soothe but also let Haddock know he can talk to him, Tintin finds one of his hands under the table - rough and warm but _trembling_ \- and meets his eyes. Color dusts the Captain’s cheeks yet again.

“It’s not your _only_ coping mechanism. It doesn’t have to be.”

The Captain swallows, and Tintin’s gaze follows his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat when he does so.

“Duly noted. We’ll talk more about this at home, alright?”

Tintin nods, releasing Haddock’s hand as to avoid any suspicion of passing pedestrians but keeping their feet tangled together. Milou barks happily from his place by Tintin’s feet, expressing the reporter’s joy for him.

“Alright.”

* * *

On their way back home, Tintin spots a sign on the other side of the road advertising speed boats for hire, so he stops in his tracks on the pavement, causing the Captain and Milou to do the same.

“Captain, look!” he exclaims, pointing at the sign in barely contained excitement.

Haddock asks: “What is it, lad?”, confused, but then he sees what Tintin’s gesturing at, and he draws a deep sigh.

“You’ve got to be pulling my leg. _Now?”_

Tintin puts on his best pout.

“Why not now? The day’s still young, Captain! Don’t you want to be out on the open waters again, without the stress of a destination?” he asks.

After all his years of knowing the sailor, he’d like to think he can attract his interest pretty easily by now. And Haddock proves him right by eventually giving in, but only after a long minute’s consideration.

“Fine, let’s hire a blundering speedboat! How am I supposed to say no to you when you’re lookin’ at me like a kicked puppy?” the sailor says, shaking his head, but there’s the hint of a smile curling at his lips all the same. Victorious, Tintin lifts Milou up in his arms and beckons the Captain to come with as he crosses the street to get to the shoreline.

The water’s clear, waves licking at the hot sand’s foundations and leaving white foam in their trace. The speed boats, lined up outside the rental shop in a row, are all bobbing gently in the water, almost none of them rented out. Despite what a nice day it is, the sun dipping below the clouds and casting a warm light over everything; despite the warmth in the air and the water’s stillness, there aren’t many boats out.

All the more privacy for him and the Captain, Tintin cheekily thinks. 

* * *

“All aboard?” asks the sailor, and Tintin settles down at the back of the boat with Milou obediently laying by his feet, more than used to the sealife by now.

“All aboard, Capitaine!” comes his enthusiastic reply. He watches Haddock fold up his sleeves to unmoor the boat from the dock and fire up the engine with the rope-start. The toned muscles of his biceps flex as he pulls back the string repeatedly and the motor sputters to life too soon. Tintin quickly averts his eyes from the Captain as not to get caught staring, blaming the heat on his face on the blazing sun.

“Aye, landlubbers, then we’re off!”

The boat steadily propels them forward, out onto open water, but not so far away from land that they lose track of where they are. Not that it would be a problem, Tintin muses as he admires Haddock in front of the wheel, in his element. This may not be the Karaboudjan, but the Captain looks genuinely happy to catch a break from barking orders to his crew on the bigger ship. For a change, he can simply sit in comfortable silence with a friend instead, listening to the clucking of the waves, the buzzing of the engine, and some seagulls squawking in the distance.

“Alright, we should be out far enough,” he hums at last, and turns off the motor, turning around to face the other man. Tintin, stroking a hand over his terrier’s fur, plays dumb and asks: “Out far enough for what?”

“You wanted to know why I’ve been drinkin’ so much lately, eh?” Haddock shoots back, and it’s a pleasant surprise to find out that he truly had been serious about confiding in Tintin.

The journalist recovers from the initial shock and nods, giving the sailor room to speak.

“Well, as I told you back at the café, I’ve been having these nightmares for a while now. They’re all of the same fashion; the two of us, we’re out on an adventure, chasing bad guys, the usual…” he trails off, taking a deep breath to gather his composure and continue, and Tintin realizes that this has been affecting the Captain far more than he has let on. “But then we get separated. Someone holds you at gunpoint, or a boulder falls and blocks your escape, or...”

His eyes are visibly wet, his breathing too shallow, and Tintin puts two and two together. He hushes Haddock softly, letting him know he needn’t conclude the story. He takes both of his hands in his own, stroking his thumb over the back of one in a soothing motion. In contrast, his hands are far larger than Tintin’s, sturdy and calloused. They’re littered in little white scars from his years away at sea. They are very nice hands.

The young reporter is torn between being angry with the Captain for not telling him sooner and being ashamed of himself for not asking about it earlier.

“I’m very sorry you’ve had to deal with this by yourself, Captain,” is what he ultimately settles for, his own voice shrill from the pure emotion this moment brings him. Haddock opens his mouth to protest, likely, but Tintin isn’t quite finished. “But your nightmares are only that, _nightmares_. They aren’t reality, they _won’t_ be.”

“You can’t promise that,” hisses the Captain, and Tintin knows he’s right about that. He sighs, ever so fondly.

“No, I can’t. The risk that something goes awry will always be there, whether we’re on an adventure or not. But I also know that you have my back, just like I have yours. I won’t go down without a fight, Captain.”

Haddock gives a stiff nod and a squeeze of his hands. “I know, lad, I know.”

“And if it makes you feel any better, I can decrease our number of cases, too,” he suggests, easier said than he originally thought it would be. He supposes that’s what love does to you. It helps you prioritize your needs; in this case, the Captain’s health and happiness come before adventures and cases.

Tintin’s breathing goes funny for a moment. Of course. _Love_. He should’ve realized it sooner. He loves the captain. This recognition is, peculiarly enough, not all that alarming to the young man.

He blinks up from their hands to Haddock’s face, studying his features carefully now that they’re up close, memorizing them. The chiseled jawline hidden beneath that night black beard, the few strands of silver in it, the strong lines around his eyes, Tintin finds everything about him so endearing. But there are tears in the corners of the Captain’s ocean blues, and Tintin wants to wipe them away. So he does, inching even closer to him until their knees are touching. Haddock clears his throat, choking out that: “You really don’t have to do that just for me.”

Tintin agrees. "I know," he nods, his throat tight and his hands lingering where they frame Haddock’s face.

“But I _want_ to,” His heart is pounding in his throat from their closeness, he can’t bear letting more precious time slip by without the Captain knowing his true feelings. So he comes clean, letting it all go in one single breath.

“I believe it would be a small sacrifice to make to be with you.”

“Tintin…” the Captain says, tone warning but not angry. His eyes slip shut and a small crease joins his pinched brow. He looks like he’s in anguish.

“You make things very difficult for me,” he breathes, and Tintin can’t help but press even closer into the other’s space. But Haddock places a firm palm on his chest, keeping him at bay. Tintin moves one hand from his face to curl into the fabric of Haddock’s sweater, the other to remove his hat. He sets it aside, anchoring it down on the boat's floor with some rope to prevent it from being carried away by the wind. The Captain’s hair is a tousled mess beneath the hat, making him look even more attractive. They’re so close that Tintin can smell him, the scent of tobacco and sea salt, close enough that he can feel Haddock’s stuttered breath ghosting his skin.

“May I kiss you?” he whispers into the space between them, their noses just barely brushing together. They’re so very close but not close enough.

“We shouldn’t,” Haddock answers, and it hurts. Not because he thinks Haddock doesn’t like him back, but because he keeps trying to find excuses not to do this.

“Why not? Why do you deny yourself the things you want?”

“Because it’s not a matter of _want_ , Tintin, it’s a matter of **_propriety_** ,” the Captain weakly insists, but it’s an argument Tintin can’t say he cares much for anymore.

He looks around them. There are no other boats in sight, and they’re too far out for anyone on land to see what they’re doing. So he rolls his eyes and shoots the Captain a small smile, saying: “Screw propriety.” before gently pressing his mouth to his.

It doesn’t last for more than a few seconds - Tintin won’t let it until he knows what side the Captain’s on - but those seconds were undeniably the best ones of Tintin’s life so far. And he’s hardly exaggerating at all. When their lips connected, it was as if everything made sense, the puzzle pieces clicking together, and it took every last ounce of strength in his body for him to pull away. He searches the Captain’s stunned gaze now for any sign that he doesn’t want this. He can’t find any.

“Blue blazes, I… Are you sure about this, my boy?”

“Very,” Tintin replies, not missing a beat, and finally, Haddock lets up, the hand on Tintin’s chest sliding to his neck, fingers dipping slightly below his collar. His touch burns pleasantly against the younger man’s skin, and a small gasp leaves Tintin’s lips, not entirely on purpose. He wants more, wants everything the Captain is willing to give him, so he moves Haddock’s other hand to his hip, noticing the hitch in his breath as he does.

“Christ, Tintin. You’re not afraid of anything, are you?” it’s as much a compliment as a chiding, and although it’s flattering, Tintin has one thing in mind that could be even better than talking. Now that he’s had a taste of the Captain, he’s greedy for more. Nonetheless, he answers his query, not missing his shot to make Haddock blush. “Not when I’m with you, no.”

And indeed, the Captain’s face goes red as soon as he says it; a nice complementing shade to the skyline as the sun begins to set, and his grip on Tintin’s hip tightens a mite, much to the reporter’s gratification. Haddock mutters a string of curses beneath his breath before connecting their lips once more in a scorching kiss. The bristle of his whiskers brush against Tintin's chin and the younger man finds warmth pooling in his stomach at the sensation.

Tintin’s arms come around Haddock’s neck, he melts easily into his touch and against his mouth, eyelids fluttering and a whimper escaping when he parts his lips and allows the Captain to deepen their kiss. He tastes of the beer they drank earlier and Tintin is parched for it, licking into his mouth eagerly.

They kiss and they kiss, hands on skin and tongues shy as they explore each other’s mouths, but not for long. With Haddock’s strong arms winding around him and coaxing him closer, Tintin straddles his hips, their bodies pressing flush together, and the Captain lets out this low growl, a sound Tintin wants to hear on repeat over and over again. Curious, slender hands travel beneath Haddock’s jumper, up his muscular, broad back, and to his wide shoulders, and Tintin can _feel_ the shudder going down the Captain’s spine from his light touches.

They had forgotten that they’re still out on sea, and they're jolted back to reality when they lean too much onto one side, causing the speed boat to wobble. Milou starts barking, alarmed, and Haddock easily lifts Tintin back onto the seat of the boat - he’s far too strong for his own good - breaking apart from the other reluctantly. Tintin comforts the poor terrier with a few pats and soothing murmurs, feeling guilty for having scared him, but positively overwhelmed with the turn of events. He licks his lips and they taste of Haddock which has him sighing.

“Easy, lad, don’t want us tippin’ over and ending this fine day with an impromptu swim, do we?” Haddock laughs just as breathily, leaning his forehead against the other’s, and Tintin chuckles as well, shaking his head. “I don’t think we do.”

“No,” Haddock agrees, his voice a mere throaty rasp that pricks Tintin’s freckled skin with goosebumps.

“And would you look at that, we’ve reached the golden hour!” the Captain says, gesturing to the sun setting by the waterline.

And it is a sight to behold, the sun a mere crescent, pausing between the water and the sky. It sending out a bright, golden glow that reaches them and their boat, casting long shadows behind them. However, feeling a pair of eyes on him, Tintin turns to face the Captain, who doesn’t seem to have been thinking of the sunset at all.

His cheeks and nose are flushed in a rosy color, his lips kiss-bitten, and the ever-existent crease in his brow is nowhere to be found. He looks… happy. Tintin leans in for another kiss, his heart so full it’s aching.

“Take me home, mon Capitaine.”

**Author's Note:**

> *AN: The café/bar La Fleur En Papier Doré is a real place to visit in Belgium, and was founded back in 1944 according to the site BruxellesMabelle. The pictures of it were very pretty and I thought it would be fitting to include in this story.
> 
> *AN 2: Simply translated, Tintin orders two pale beers and grilled ham and cheese sandwiches :)


End file.
